Shot a life coach in Reno, just to watch him re-evaluate personal goals.

Friday, April 17, 2015

She is too far from anywhere, and doesn't know it

NO IDEALS

LONDON,
January 10. It is good to find that at intervals during that vast and difficult
operation of removing the beams from poor old England's eyes, Mr P. A. Vaile
can occasionally spare time to consider the motes in the eyes of other
countries. Alas, that it should be so, but Mr Vaile has discovered something
wrong with New Zealand's vision. Whether it is a recent discovery or not I do
not know, but though the New Zealander seems to have taken root in the heart of
the Empire, he still maintains his interest in the Dominion's welfare, and he
is troubled concerning certain motes in her eyes. What these motes are your
readers may easily ascertain from an interview the writer had with Mr Vaile a
few days ago.

"Do I
ever want to be back in New Zealand?" he echoed, in answer to my question.
"My dear fellow, there is only one thing wrong with New Zealand. She is
too far from anywhere, and doesn't know it. The finest country in the world and
the slowest in some ways. A land bigger than England, Scotland, and Wales
together, with less than the population of a London suburb, and no third class
passages available for months. If they knew their business they would be
running steamboats and fast, cheap boats, too, instead of the things that are
going now. The speed, the accommodation, the cuisine, and attention on some of
them is a disgraceful joke, while the neglect of the cable service is a crying
scandal to the Home Government. Fancy 3s a word to New Zealand in 1912, for the
recent reductions are, by their conditions, merely farcical New Zealand,"
Mr Vaile went on, "is especially blessed in many ways. Its climate,
scenery, and sport are magnificent assets, but poorly developed."

What do you
think of the future of New Zealand, Mr Vaile?"

"The
future of New Zealand will be great if we can only persuade the New Zealander
to cultivate some ideals. At present he has none in art, literature, architecture,
or I regret to say it in, if I may use the word, national pride. In a kind of
way he is proud of his mutton, his butter, and his football, but he is dead to
the higher appeal of culture in almost any form. New Zealand must try to raise
some big men. She will never do that until she shows pride in and loyalty to
her aspiring citizens. The habit of cheap depreciation is too prevalent. Let me
give you an instance of what I mean. An Auckland candle-maker complained to an
Auckland paper that his candles never got any notice in the local paper. The
editor, who was seeing him by appointment, produced two samples. One was the
'Southern Sperm,' made in Dunedin, the other the 'Auckland Light.' These are
not the names, but they will do. The editor explained to the candle
manufacturer that so long as Dunedin could turn out such superior articles he
could not conscientiously praise his wares. To cut a long story short, the old
candle manufacturer, after he had played his fish for a time, told him that
both candles were made in the same Auckland factory, and that if he would send
down to his printing department he would find that he had an order in hand for
10,000 packets for 'Southern Sperms' made in Auckland. This perfectly expresses
one of New Zealand's greatest weaknesses. There is too much of the spirit of
the Southern Sperm about her. Unless she takes pride in her race, in her
people, in their deeds, in their ideals, she will never be anything."
"What exactly* do you mean by ideals?" I asked.

Well, you know
that Lord Plunket told New Zealanders that they had no architecture. How do you
encourage your architects? You give important work to outsiders, who are proved
to be miserable plagiarists of contemptible edifices. Is it likely that this
will produce architecture in New Zealand?"

"But that
is only one instance," I objected.

"It is
typical of much that goes on in public life," said Mr Vaile. "There
is no looking ahead. Everything is of the little, and temporary, and mean
order. Much of what l am saying is of general application, but let me be
specific and tell you a few things about Auckland, the place of my birth, one
of the most beautiful and desirable places on the earth in which to live, if
those who are responsible for the management of it would give it a chance. I
noticed recently that a town in America had appointed a business manager.
Auckland might with advantage follow suit. "Now to my instances. When I
was in Auckland the roads were a scandalous offence. They are still the same. I
indicated then how they might be made good, as I did six years ago in the case
of the Thames Embankment, which is now constructed as I suggested in my article
in the 'Daily Mail.' I mentioned this in ‘Wake Up, England,' to put it on
record, as I believe the possibilities of tarred natural macadam are not yet
realised even in England. Then we have the cemetery bridge. I christened this
the tight rope at the time it was mooted. Fancy such an artery of traffic about
the width of a decent dining room. It is inconceivable. There is sheer
blindness, littleness, futility in this no ideal, no glimpse into the future.
Then we have our Town Hall, in charity the less I say of this the better. I
christened it ‘The Flat Iron,' and as such it will hang about the necks of
those responsible for it. A more complete instance of the absence of ideals and
foresight it would be almost impossible to find. I fought it tooth and nail by
article and plan and model, by word and deed. What has Auckland now for her
£100,000? A flat iron, deposited in a hole, where it is not seen an uninspiring
thing, which cannot evoke any sentiment, but amusement or sorrow. That which
might have been a crown to the city and an inspiration is an eyesore.

“Auckland
might be made a beautiful city, but she will want some ideals and some men. I
was at Eastbourne recently on the magnificent front. Think of Auckland
similarly treated, with a beautiful drive round the foreshore to St. Heliers
Bay on the Tamaki, a bridge across to Northcote, and a drive round towards
Takapuna Beach or beyond. What grander natural playground could be found than
the Orakei basin? Why should not that marvellous health resort Rotorua be
linked up with Auckland by a cycle track? If Rotorua were alive it would have
it. My good friend Mr T. E. Donne, Rotorua's most able developer, has always
been strongly with me in this. He asserts that it would be a solid investment
for Rotorua. The fact is, the New Zealand public man is much too little, much
too materialistic. He must be bigger. He must reach out into the future. He
must feel for New Zealand, think for her, serve her, if he wants ever to make
her felt amongst the nations. Mr Pierpont Morgan has given an eminent American
professor an unlimited commission to prepare an illustrated history of the
North American Indian. What is being done in New Zealand in this direction for
the Maori, the noblest aboriginal race on earth? Very little. There is one man
Mr Henry E. Partridge of Auckland whose collection of Maori portraits and
pictures is unique. For 30 years he kept Herr Lindauer, an Austrian artist,
painting them for him. But he has ideals. In time to come he will be known as
one of New Zealand's big men. She sadly wants many more like him."

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"Dandyism is above all the burning need to make oneself an original, contained within the outer limits of propriety. It is a kind of self-worship... It is the pleasure of surprising others and the prideful satisfaction of never being surprised."
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